


So Far From Normal

by Winter_of_our_Discontent



Series: So Far From Normal [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winter_of_our_Discontent/pseuds/Winter_of_our_Discontent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John forgets, sometimes, that normal people don’t live like he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Far From Normal

He forgets, sometimes, that normal people don’t live like he does.

He’s gone to grab a beer out of Sara’s fridge, and not only is it not behind-and-to-the-left-of-the-jar-with-the-fingers-below-the-margarine-tub-he’s-afraid-to-open, but _everything_ in the fridge is food. The egg compartment on the side even has eggs in it. _Chicken_ eggs.

It feels wrong, in a niggling-back-of-the-brain way. He turns, beer in hand, and decides to deal with his sudden tension by jokingly saying something like ‘Ah, well, I suppose with the practice you don’t have to keep body parts in the flat.’ He’s as far as the ‘suppose’ before he trails off, suddenly aware that that would be the wrong thing to say, though not why it would be. _Not good? Bit not good._

And since when has the voice in his head sounded like _Sherlock?_

Christ, who has to be reminded that most people don’t keep cadavers in the crisper? _You insisted on the crisper since neither of us buys vegetables but you still like a spot of bacon so the meat drawer is now off limits..._ He tells the Head-Sherlock to shut up, that is not the point, and is far too pleased when it does so.

God, he’s so far from normal he’d need a passport to get there now.

“John?” Sara says, and he snaps his head up. “I... sorry, long day,” he mutters, and gives her a rueful half smile that she hopefully won’t recognise as false, because it’s bad enough that he’s gone crackers without everyone around him needing to know.

“I know,” she responds with a hint of I’m-a-doctor-what-are-your-symptoms, “I was there for it.”

And he knows it’s a stupid excuse, because she was there. And he knows she’ll know he came in tired, and she’ll suspect (correctly) that it’s not the four hour shift that’s exhausted him but the murder case _manslaughter, John, they’re legally distinct if not always morally distinguishable_ that kept him up the night before.

He wants to apologise, but beyond “Sorry I’m apparently crap at being normal” isn’t sure what an appropriate apology would be. He settles for smiling at her again, more genuine this time, because she is nice _boring shut up_ nicer than he deserves, to put up with him, and dear God he hopes she doesn’t view him as a _project,_ because he had a girlfriend who did that at uni and it ended horribly for both of them, lots of tears on her part and awkwardness on his.

And so they sit companionably on her sofa and watch a movie, because even if it feels a bit like playacting _which you’re rubbish at well we can’t all be sociopaths_ he’s going to try and keep some ties, and maybe if he can’t be normal anymore he can at least serve as the ambassador from Sherlock-land to the foreign nation of everyday London.

Maybe someday they'll put his face on the fiver.


End file.
